


desperate

by wldbrbt



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, M/M, Making Up, Mentions of Blood, Miscommunication, they are both idiots, vague mention of a panic attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:01:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29630172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wldbrbt/pseuds/wldbrbt
Summary: he thinks of blue and thinks of george, of his soul, pure and untainted, too gentle for this world. he thinks of george and feels that all too familiar pang in his chest, that all consuming pain he's gotten accustomed to in the past few months.he thinks of george and thinks of loss. thinks of all that could've been; all that wasn't. all that will never be, probably.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	desperate

clay lost george before he could really have him, in a way.

maybe that's a harsh way to put it, he thinks, sitting at his desk, eyes boring into his walls, staring holes into the paint. looking for answers there. always looking, never finding anything. 

maybe that's a harsh way to put it, because he hasn't lost george, not really. at least not like that.

he's still there, still alive, still the same george he's always been. just more distant, further than he's ever been, too far out for clay's weak fingers to reach and grasp. someone he still carries with himself wherever he goes, someone that still follows him around, sticking to him like a ghost from the past. 

but he's not there, no. not anymore.

it starts off slow, clay almost doesn't notice it. george spending more time with others, less time with him. they talk less and less, their conversations feeling more forced with every day that passes, losing interest in each other, in a way. or maybe that's not the right way to put it either. it frustrates him, not being able to put a name to what's happening. it's all so fucking frustrating. 

but the days continue passing, days without talking to each other turning into weeks, then months, until there's nothing anymore but the memories of what they used to be once, of all the promises they've made to each other. they taste bitter on clay's tongue now, even if once they'd felt like sugary syrup and cotton candy, filling up his insides, sticky with it all, with all the love he harbours.

clay has many questions, all of them sitting there in his frazzled brain, unanswered. he chews them over, spits them out, only for them to form again and again. how do you let go of something you've never had, he wonders. how do you mourn something that's never existed, at least not to you? not for you? a love you've never had? how do you forgive yourself for things you haven't done; things you wish you could've accomplished, something you wish you could've become? 

maybe you should've tried harder, maybe you should've pushed more; or less. 

maybe you should've cared less. maybe you needed to be gentle with the universe, careful with want, letting the current fall through the gaps between your fingers, flowing like water, sand. gone with the wind. hoping that some grains remain, that the ones that stay are the ones you wish to obtain.

maybe the more you want something the less deserving of it you are, clay thinks to himself; the blue light of his screen reflecting on his sun-kissed skin and freckled cheeks, painting him in an artificial glow. he thinks of blue and thinks of the oceans, endless and unforgiving, strong and harsh where they need to be. cold, bottomless. he thinks of blue and thinks of the sky just before a storm, dark and ominous, black clouds swirling around, swallowing all the light, making way for cold, cold rain. 

he thinks of blue and thinks of george, thinks of him as he wishes to remember him; gentle and careful, soft spoken words and sweet smiles, the prettiest pinks and reds adorning his cheeks as he laughed. he thinks of his giggles, melodic, something akin to a wind chime blowing gently in the summer breeze, its sound calming clay's heart. he thinks of his skin, smooth and delicate, thinks it must always be warm to the touch, warm compared to clay's own cold fingers. his eyes, their brownness deep and welcoming, making him feel safe, feel at home.

he thinks of blue and thinks of george, of his soul, pure and untainted, too gentle for this world. he thinks of george and feels that all too familiar pang in his chest, that all consuming pain he's gotten accustomed to in the past few months. 

he thinks of george and thinks of loss. thinks of all that could've been; all that wasn't. all that will never be, probably.

it tears at the core of his very being, fate dragging its sharp claws across his skin, drawing red, red blood, contrasting nicely with all the blue around him. george is gone from his life, maybe gone for good, and still he's here, clay still sees him wherever he goes, wherever he turns. everything reminds him of george even if he wishes that nothing did, wishing he could move on, let go.

but there's no letting go. there's nothing to let go of.

he thinks himself dramatic, as he hugs his knees to his chest, the stream on his screen moving too fast for him to keep up with. he thinks himself fucking stupid, thinks it all a big joke, something he's overreacting. something that shouldn't define him this much, and still it does. he drags his eyes from his window, stops counting the raindrops making their way down the pane; focusing instead on his computer. on the stream that's playing.

clay blinks once, twice; lets his vision clear before his gaze connects with the shapes and colours moving on his screen, trying to clear his head enough to process what's going on. he doesn't know why he's doing this, doesn't remember what prompted him to pull up twitch in the first place, to search up a name he's all too familiar with. he doesn't know why he's watching him, why he's subjecting himself to the pain that he knows will follow. 

maybe there's some sick sort of pleasure in the way his heart caves in as he hears george laugh, all pretty and loud, for someone else. maybe he finds satisfaction in the way his whole being seems to shrink onto itself when he sees that gentle flush on the brit's cheeks, all for someone else. never for him, not anymore. maybe it's all some sort of punishment, one clay's willingly subjecting himself to, hurting himself in hopes of finding the key to moving on.

it doesn't help, he knows that. it never will. but still he does it, watches his george be happy without him, watches his george who's not really his anymore. 

never really had been, either. maybe that's harder to admit. 

"dream's in chat?" he hears george mutter, tone wavering slightly, specs of hurt in it that only clay will notice. his heart beats loudly in his chest; thinks himself stupid for getting noticed so easily, thinks of leaving the stream, turning off his computer and crying himself to sleep as he tends to, lately. thinks it's too late now, decides to stay. "don't be stupid, guys. there's no way he is. why would he be?"

he sounds bitter, sounds hurt in a way clay's never heard him before. he swallows harshly, watches as george grows more restless, his character pausing mid-game, only the sounds of his mouse clicking around heard for a few seconds. he sees the way his eyes widen slightly then, sees the way his jaw clenches, the way he licks his lips before he clicks back into the game, a nervous habit. clay knows him too well, still after everything; can tell george knows he's here now. 

he watches as george goes back to playing, his game more sloppy, less coordinated. he's nervous, clay thinks. or maybe just uncomfortable. clay's hands shake as they hover over his keyboard, a quick sense of bravery overriding his body, fingers pressing over the letters before he can change his mind. regret washes over him in strong waves after he presses send on the message, dragging him down as he watches it disappear in the chat that's moving way too fast for his frazzled brain to keep up with, hoping george misses it too, that he doesn't see. 

'hi georgie', it reads, and clay sees the exact moment george notices it, sees it in the way his eyes harden after he glances at his second monitor, sees it in the hard bob of his adam's apple as he swallows. sees it in the way he draws in a harsh breath, hears it in the way he tells chat to "shut up about it, it doesn't matter. i don't care."

clay feels like he's drowning, the words biting at his skin, their teeth tearing at his flesh, taking him apart piece by piece; regret and longing consuming him fully. his hands shake, heart beating way too loud and way too fast in his chest, his mind yelling at him, screaming, all of it making him feel nauseous, making him feel sick. the room spins with him, walls melting and colours swirling, his ears ringing in the silence as george stops talking altogether, focusing his attention on the game fully. clay wishes he'd speak again, even if it was harsh words directed at him, even if there was nothing nice or gentle about it; he just wants to keep hearing him, misses him, misses him so fucking badly he feels like he might evaporate with it all. 

'im sorry', he types in chat, his mind blank, his mind in overdrive, too much and too little in his head. scrambling for something, anything. 

'george'

'please'

'talk to me'

he lets himself slump back in his chair after, his whole body feeling way too heavy, his whole being tired, gravity dragging him down, melting him until he's nothing but a puddle of molten flesh and bones, mixing with the colours on his carpet that drip from his ceiling and run from his walls. he feels like he's nothing, feels as if his soul had left his mortal body, escaping from its flesh prison through his fingers as they danced over his keyboard, carried away with the words as they disappeared with the constant moving chat. carried away to george, for it to seep through his own screen, into his own skin and skeleton, into his heart. clay doesn't know if it freezes or warms it. 

he vaguely registers as george mutters a low curse after having read everything he'd said, stopping his game completely, ignoring the calls of others in the voice chat. he stares at his second screen, eyes distant and jaw tense, time seemingly slowing around them, coming to a complete halt. clay waits for something to happen, anything; waits for reality to flip over, for the ground to open up underneath him and swallow him whole, waits with his breath stuck in his throat and tears stinging his eyes, unwilling to blink in fear of missing even the smallest movement from george. 

"you could've, clay," george rasps out, talking to him, only him, as if there weren't thousands watching, as if he wasn't in a call with other friends. talking to him as if they were the only two things that existed in the whole universe, separated but still united. "you could've fucking talked to me if you wanted to. i would've listened- would've answered. but you didn't."

clay bites at his lip harshly, feels the strong, metallic taste of blood fill his mouth, hears it rushing in his ears and in his veins, threatening to burst. his hand grasps at his mouse, frantic; clicking onto discord, searching for george's name, ignoring the fact that the last time they've sent each other anything was almost 4 months ago. ignoring the pang in his chest, almost unbearable now.

he messages george, the same insistence in his words as in his chat earlier, hears the pings come through on george's stream a few seconds later. he waits with bated breath as he watches george read them, notes the twitch in his brows and the hardening of his eyes, the way he grinds his teeth together. 

"i'm sorry guys, i've- i gotta go," he bites out a moment later, stumbling over his words, stupid with urgency, drunk on desperation and anger. "i'll talk to you later, i'm so sorry chat, bye!"

then he's ending his stream, quiet engulfing clay completely, george's voice gone from his head. he misses him in an instant again, realises he needs him, all the suppressed longing and yearning breaking free from his lungs and ribcage, rushing past his lips with a broken sigh, pressing on the call button next to george's name before he realises it. it rings once, twice, before george picks up.

then there's silence again, scratching against his bones. it feels uncomfortable, feels painful. 

"hi, george," clay begins weakly, palms sweating, his tongue feeling way too heavy in his mouth. "i wasn't sure you're gonna pick up."

"i ended my stream for you, you fucking asshole," george mutters, and clay can imagine the frown on his face, between his brows, wishing he could smooth his thumb over it. make it disappear. "of course i was gonna pick up."

"sorry," and clay doesn't know what he's apologising for, really. apologising for everything; apologising for nothing. "i'm sorry george."

"why now?" the other boy asks, tone exasperated, so frantic still. desperate for answers to questions they're both too afraid to ask, answers that neither of them have. "after all this time, why now?"

"i don't know," clay says, honest. it's been a long time since he's been honest with anyone. "something- i don't know. it just felt right, today. it felt like- i felt like i needed you, more than ever. like if i don't try to fix it now then i'll never be able to."

"it's been four months-"

"i know that," the blonde sighs, desperate. "but it's not really my fault, is it? or at least not entirely."

"don't fucking start this now- fuck you," he hears george exhale, all shaky and broken, breath catching in his throat. clay imagines his hands shaking, imagines his teeth biting at his tongue; feels as if a fire is burning him up from the inside, scorching, destroying everything in its wake. george's anger, lighting him aflame. "you're the one that-"

"because you left me, george!" and the brunette is stunned into silence, words cutting off in the middle of his sentence. clay feels sick, feels like he might pass out. "you've neglected me, george. you never fucking talked to me, went and streamed with others, played with others, talked to others- anyone but me. don't you see?"

"because you've pulled back," george mutters, "because you stopped replying, because i felt like i was annoying you. i thought you needed space."

"i don't- i don't need space from you," and it's honest; raw and so fucking honest it should terrify clay, but it doesn't. it just feels like coming home, in a weird way. "i've only ever needed you. i love you, you know this. why would i ever need space from the one i'm in love with?"

"are you?" is all george asks, and clay frowns.

"why are you acting surprised? i've told you before, so many times-"

"are you in love with me, or are you in love with the idea of me loving you?" george asks, the words loud in the silence around them, bouncing off the walls of clay's skull, making his head spin. he can't breathe.

"what- what do you even mean? i've always loved you, george. i've always been in love with you. you know this," he utters, voice hoarse, words cutting at his throat. "why is it so hard for you to understand? to accept?" and yet his tone is gentle, careful. desperate. 

"it's never been about whether you loved me too or not," clay continues when it becomes clear that george won't. "it doesn't matter. it never did. i still loved you, even when you didn't love me. i still love you now."

"it's just-" and george sighs, tired, the weight of the whole universe pushing on his small shoulders, pushing him down and down. "i don't know, clay. it's all so confusing. you're confusing. i do love you, you know this too. but sometimes i hate it all- hate you for it. i think i do, right now."

"it doesn't have to be confusing, you know," and clay's tired too, so so tired. tired of it all, tired of the shared weight, the shared burden, tired of the pain. of the world. of life. "god, george. i hate the way you hate to love me. i wish you didn't."

"hate you?" george speaks after a bit, tone meek, barely audible. clay has to strain himself to pick up his words, his fatigued brain pushing its limit. "or love you?"

"i don't know," the blonde sighs, fingers digging into his thighs, his nails cutting into his flesh. he wishes he could draw blood, wishes the dark, red droplets could distract him from whatever storm they're brewing right now, from whatever the fuck it is that they're doing. distract him from the blue of george. "both. neither. i don't know."

"so what do you want me to do?" george asks him then, open and vulnerable. clay wishes he could hold him, wishes he could patch his soul up. wishes they could go back in time, to 4 months ago, or maybe even before that, when loving each other was simpler, when the idea of having george still made him giddy with want and greed, when it didn't seem so unfathomable. when he reached and his hands still touched. now all that's left is the ghost of the past, eidolons of old feelings and old persons they used to be. something they cannot go back to, something they cannot become again. 

"i don't know," he sighs, letting his bones and soul be crushed under the weight of the confession. he doesn't know anything. "i wish i knew, george. i wish it wasn't so confusing. it doesn't have to be, but it still fucking is. i just want you."

"you have me," the brit mutters, and clay chuckles bitterly. "you don't realise. you've always had me."

"but i don't!" and he's standing up now, chest heaving with harsh breaths, all of it finally washing over him, the adrenaline pumping in his veins making him act on impulse. "four fucking months, george. four months. don't tell me i had you then, because i didn't. and now i don't know how to have you anymore, no matter how much i want to."

george sounds frustrated too, when he speaks. "so what? do you just wanna give up? go back to not speaking, ignoring it all? like you've- like we've been doing in the past four months? is that what you want, clay?"

"i don't fucking know," clay sighs, slumping back in his chair again, the fight and anger leaving his weak body as fast as they came; dragging his hands down his face, letting his head hang after. "no. no, i don't want to go back to that. i missed you during that time, you know? i missed you every fucking day."

"you could've just talked to me," and george sounds smaller too now, regret lacing his words. 

"didn't think you'd want me to," it's hard to admit, even now, even after all this time, after countless nights spent crying himself to sleep and wondering about the what if's. it still hurts to think about it, to talk about it. "you seemed happy, without me. and who was i to ruin that?"

"i wasn't. i could never be truly happy without you, you idiot. you're so fucking stupid," george mutters, but there's some fondness in his tone, and clay can just about imagine his lips curling at the ends slightly, the beginning of a smile, the beginning of something. "i suppose we both are."

"yeah, i suppose we are," and clay's fingers toy with his sweatpants, his feelings way too heavy, cosmic. red with love, red with gentle desire. "i guess we are."

"can we- can we try again? i know we can't go back, but can we start over? a new beginning?"

"yes," clay sighs, relieved in a way he hasn't felt in months, his soul easing, the black clouds of the storm clearing up to make way for gentle blues, light and calm. blue like george, all soft and comforting. "please. i'd like that."

and nothing is quite fixed yet, nothing is back to how it used to be in the past, all easy and effortless, but maybe it can be better. maybe they can learn how to properly love each other again, clay less naive and george less afraid of it all.

reds and blues, in harmony.

maybe they can work it out.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so so much for reading! sorry for the rushed ending, i never know how to properly end things, but i hope you still enjoyed! :]  
> any feedback is very appreciated, i'm not a native speaker so if you notice anything that doesn't make sense or is incorrect please please do let me know!! <3


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